40 years of best friends
by Bella's.old.chevy
Summary: for 40 years Rosalie and Bella buoy on eachother thorugh life, weathering the storms of friendship. they think they've survived it all until one act of betrayal tears them apart. follow Rose and Bella through 40 years of friendship. RxB
1. Chapter 1

A\N** this story is just a back burner story. I will not be updated often, until I have Playing The Seductress done.  
>Each chapter won't be very long.<strong>

They were best friends. That was a long time ago-more than 4 decades to be exact- but just now, as she lay in bed listening to the winter storm raging outside, it seemed like yesterday.

In the past week, she'd lost the ability to distance herself from the memories. Too often lately in her dreams it was 1971; she was a teenager again, riding her bike at midnight with her best friend in a darkness so complete it was like being invisible. The place was relevant only as a reference point, but she remembered it in vivid detail: a meandering ribbon of asphalt bordered on either side by a deep gully of murky water and hillsides of shaggy grass. Before they met, that road seemed to go nowhere at all; it was just country lane. 

Then they saw it through each others eyes. When they stood together on the rise of the hill, instead of towering trees and muddy potholes, they saw all the places they would someday go. At night, they sneaked out of their houses and met on the road. On the banks of the river they smoked stolen cigarettes, cried to the lyrics of 'Bill, don't be my hero', and told each other everything, stitching their lives together until by summers end no one knew where one girl ended and the other began. They became to everyone who knew them simply RoseandBella, and for more than forty years that friendship was the bulkhead of their lives: strong, durable, solid. The music might have changed with the decades but the promises made didn't.

Best Friends Forever

They'd believed it would last, that promise, that someday they'd be old women, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking old deck, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing.

Now she knew better, of course. For more than a year she'd been telling herself it as okay, that she could go on without a best friend. Sometimes she believed it.

Then she would hear the music. Their music. 'goodbye yellow brick road', 'dancing queen', bohemian rhapsody', 'yesterday'.

She eased back the covers and got out of bed, being careful not to wake the sleeping man beside her. For a moment she stood there, staring down at him in the darkness. Even in sleep, he wore a worried expression.

She took the phone off the hook and left the bedroom, walking down the quiet hallway towards the deck. There, she stared out at the storm and gathered her courage. As she punched in the familiar numbers, she wondered what she would say to her once-best friend after all these silent months, how she would start. _I miss you... my life is falling apart..._ or simply: _I need you._

Please review.****


	2. Dancing Queen

For most of the country, 1970 was a year of upheaval and change, but in the house on Lilly Drive, everything was orderly and quiet. Inside, ten-year old Rose Hale sat on a cold wooden floor, playing with her dolls.

Her grandma sat in her rocking chair by the fireplace, doing needle point. She made hundreds of samplers, most of which quoted the Bible.

And grandpa... well, he couldn't help being quiet. Ever since his stroke, he just stayed in bed.

Rose reached for her yellow-haired doll. Humming very quietly, she made her dance to 'Daydream Believer'. Halfway through the song, there was a knock at the door. It was such an eunxpected sound that Rose paused her playing and looked up. No one ever came to visit.

Gran put her needlework in the bag by her chair and got up. When sh eopened the door, there as a long silence; then she said, "Oh my."

Rose heard something weird in her gran's voice. Peering sideways, she was a tall woman with long messy hair and a smile that wouldn't stay in place. She was one of the prettiest women Rose had ever seen.

"Thass not much of a meeting for your long-lost daughter." the lady pushed past Grandma and walked straight to Rose, then bent down. "Is this my little Rosalie Lillian?"

_daughter? _That meant-

"Mommy?" she whispered in awe, afraid to believe it. She'd waited so long for this, dreamt of it: her mommy coming back.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: this update is for keandraw, because she reviewed and asked for an update :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh, yes!" Rose said. She was so happy. She'd prayed for this.

Gran closed the door. "Why don't you come in the kitchen for a cup of coffee?"

"I didn't come back for coffee. I came back for my daughter."

"Rose needs-"

"I think I can figure out what my daughter needs" her mother seemed to be trying to stand straight, but it wasn't working. She was kind of wobbly and her eyes looked funny.

Gran moved towards them. "Raising a child is a big responsibility. Sharon. Maybe if you moved in here for a while and got to know Rose you'd be ready..." she paused then said quietly. "Your drunk."

Mommy giggled and winked at Rose.

"Iss my birthday, mother, or have you forgotten?"

"Your birthday?" Rose shot to her feet. "Wait here," she said, then ran to her room. Her heart was racing as she dug through her vanity drawer, looking for the macaroni and bead necklace she'd made her mom at bible school last year. Gran had frowned when she saw it, told her not to get her hopes up, but Rose hadn't been able to do that. Her hopes had been up for years. Shoving it nto her pocket, she rushed back out, just in time to her mommy say,

"I'm not drunk mother dear. I'm with my kid again for the first time in three years. Love is the ultimate high."

"Six years. She was four the last time you dropped her off here."

"That long ago?" Mommy said, looking confused.

"Move back home, Sharon. I can help you."

"No thanks. Come on, Rosalie." Her mom was already lurching toward the door.

Rose frowned. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it supposed to happen. Her mommy hadn't hugged her or kissed her or asked how she was. And everyone knew you were supposed to pack a suitcase to leave. She pointed at her bedroom door. "My stuff-"

"You don't need the materialistic shit, Rosalie."

Gran moved towards Rose, pulled her into a hug that smelt sweetly familiar, of spice and hairspray. These were the only arms that had ever hugged Rose, this was the only person who'd ever made her feel safe, and suddenly she was afraid. "Gran?" she said. "what's happening?"

"Your coming with me," Mommy said, reaching out to the door frame to stead herself.

Her grandmother let go of Rose and stepped back. "You know our phone number. You call us if something goes wrong." She was crying.

Mommy swooped over and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Come on." She took Rose's hand and dragged her out the door.

Rose stumbled along behind her mother, out of the house, down the steps and across the street to a rusted VW bus that had plastic flowers all over it and a giant yellow peace symbol painted on the side.

The door rolled opened; thick grey smoke rolled out. Through the haze she saw three people in the van. A black man with a huge Afro and a red head ban was in the drivers seat. In the back was a woman in a fringed waistcoat and striped trousers; besides her sat a man in bell-bottoms and a dirty T-shirt. Brown shag carpeting covered the van floor; a few pipes lay scattered about, empty beer bottles, food wrappers and eight-track tapes.

"This is my kid, Rosalie."

"She looks just like you, Shar. It blows my mind"

"Get in," the driver said gruffly. "We're gonna be late."

The man in the dirty shirt reached for Rose, put his arm around her waist and swung her into the van, where she positioned herself carefully on her knees.

Mommy climbed inside and slammed the door shut. Rose edged closer to the metal side to make room beside her, but Mommy sat next to the lady. They immediately started talking about pigs and marches. None of it made sense to Rose and the smoke was making her dizzy. When the man beside her lit up his pipe, she couldn't help the sigh of disappointment that leaked form her mouth.

The man turned to her. Exhaling a cloud of grey smoke, he smiled. "Jus go with the flow lil girl."

Mommy then looked at Rose for the first time, really really looked at her. "You remember that kidda. Life isn't about cookin' and cleanin' and havin' babies. It's about bein' free. Doin' your own thing. You can be the president of the Untied States if you want."

The woman patted Mommy's thigh. "Thass tellin' it like it is. Pass me the bong, Tom."

Rose frowned. She didn't want to be the president. She wanted to be a dancer. Mostly, though, she wanted her mommy to love her. She edged sideways until she was actually close enough to her mother to touch her. "Happy birthday," she said quietly, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out the necklace she'd worked so hard on. "I made this for you."

Mom snagged the necklace and closed her fingers around it. Rose waited for her mom to say thank you and put it on, but she didn't; she just sat there, swaying to the music, talking to her friends.

Rose finally closed her eyes. The smoke was making her sleepy. For most of her life she'd missed her mommy. She'd promised herself that if her mommy ever came back, she'd be good. Whatever she'd done or said that was so wrong, she'd fix or change. More than anything she wanted to make her mommy proud.

But now she didn't know what to do. In her dreams, they'd always gone off together alone, just the two of them, holding hands.

**A/N: pleeease read and review!**


	4. Chapter 4

"Rosalie. Wake up."

Rose came awake with a jolt. Her head was pounding and her throat hurt. When she tried to say, _where are we?_ All that came out was a croak.

Everyone laughed at that as they bundled out of the van.

On this busy downtown Seattle street, there were people everywhere, chanting and yelling and holding up signs that read: Make love, not war, and hell no, we won't go. Rose had never seen so many people in one place

Mommy took her by the hand, pulled her close.

The rest of the day was a blur of people chanting slogans and singing songs. By the time it got dark, Rose was tired and hungry and her head ached, but they just kept walking, up one street and down another. The crowd was different now; they'd put away their signs and started drinking. People swelled around them, dancing and laughing. From somewhere, music spilt into the street.

And then, suddenly she was holding onto nothing.

"Mommy!" she screamed.

No one answered or turned to her, even though there were people everywhere. She screamed for her mommy until her voice failed her.

_She'll be back._

Tears stung her eyes and leaked down her face as she sat at the kerb, waiting, trying to be brave

But her mommy never came back.

A policeman took her back to the house on Lily Drive, where her grandma held her tightly and told her it wasn't her fault.

But Rose knew better. Somehow she'd done something wrong, been bad. Next time her mommy came back, she'd be better.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose got a chart of the presidents of the Untied Stated and memorized every name in order. She told anyone who asked she would be the first woman president; she even quit taking ballet classes. On her eleventh birthday, while Grandma lit the candles on her cake and sang 'Happy Birthday', Rose glanced repeatedly at the door, thinking, _this is it,_ no one even knocked and the phone didn't even ring. Later, with the open boxes of her gifts around her, she tried to keep smiling. In front of her, on the coffee table, was an empty scrapbook.

"She didn't even call," Rose said, looking up.

Gran sighed. "Your mom has...problems, Rose. She's weak and confused. I've told you that a hundred times. "I know, Gran."

"I wish thing were different with your mama, Rose, and that's the god honest truth, but she's a lost soul. Has been for a long time.

"Is that why she doesn't love me?"

Gran looked down at her. "She loves you, in her way. That's why she keeps coming back." Gran tightened her hold on Rose. "Someday she'll be sorry she missed these years with you."

"I could show her my scrapbook."

"That would be nice." after a long silence, Gran said, "Happy birthday, Rose." and kissed her forehead. "Now i'd best go sit with your grandfather. He's feeling poorly today."

After her grandmother had left the room, Rose sat there, staring down at the black first page of her new scrapbook. It would be the perfect thing to give her mother one day, show her what she'd missed.

She picked up the pen and very carefully wrote the date in the upper right-hand corner; then she frowned. What else? _Dear Mommy. Today was my eleventh birthday..._


	6. Chapter 6

For some years after, whenever she had a good day, she hurried home and wrote about it. Somewhere along the way she started adding little embellishments to make her look better. Anything that would make her mom someday proud of her. She filled that scarpbook and then another and another. On every birthday, she received a new one, until she moved into her teen years.

Something happened to her then. She wasn't sure what it was, maybe the breast that grew faster than anyone else's, or maybe it was that she got tired of putting her life down in pieced of paper no one would ever ask to see. All she knew was that by fourteen, she was done. She put her little girl books in a big cardboard box and shoved them to the back of her closet, and she asked Gran not to buy her anymore.

She didn't care about her mother any more and tried tried never to think about her. She quit buying her clothes in the little girl area and spent her time in the juniors area. She bought midriff-bearing tight shirts that showed off her new boobs and low rise bell bottoms that made her butt look good.

She learned that is she dressed a certain way and acted a certain way, the cool kids wanted to hang out with her. By eighth grade, she was the most popular girl in the whole school, and it helped, having all those friends. When she was busy enough, she forgot about the woman who didn't want her.

On rare days she still felt-not lonely- but something. Adrift, maybe.

Today was one of those days. Sighing, she sat quietly in her regular seat on the school bus, hearing the buzz of gossip go on around her. Everyone was busy talking about family thing; she had nothing to add to the conversations. She knew nothing about fighting with your little brother or being grounded for talking back to your parents. Thankfully, when the bus pulled up to her stop, she hurried off, repositioned her backpack over her shoulder and started the long walk home. She had just turned the corner when she saw it.

There parked across the street from Gran's house, was a beat-up rusted VW bus. The flowers were still on the side.

Her mother was back.


End file.
